By Kitty Owens

Looking at an old photo of the lake

there is a delicious moment 

as I get my bearings.

The shock of the old.

Throngs of children splash in the lake.

(Now the water’s filthy, maybe poisonous.)

When I walk around, I must think: 

‘Ever was it so.’    

Or do I think of the past as somewhere I’ve escaped from? 

Looking at that white sky and luscious black water,

I see a place I want to go to

I want to swim in that lake.